


The Language of Flowers

by HalcyonStars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, First Kiss, Florist Castiel, Flowers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalcyonStars/pseuds/HalcyonStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You got any flower arrangements that say ‘you’re a cheating liar and I hope you get chlamydia’?” </p><p>Castiel startled. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything of the sort, but my brother is a pastry chef. I’m sure he could make a novelty cake for that.”<br/> </p><p>In which Castiel owns a flower shop, and Dean comes in wanting to buy flowers for his girlfriend, until one day, he doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Flowers

It was a sunny day with not a cloud to be seen, but the cool breeze kept it from being unbearably hot. Down-poured rays bounced off the trees and off the chirpy birds that sat in them. 

Outside, the streets were bustling with toe-stepped trotting clattering on concrete sidewalks and the chatter of the occasional passer-by. Among the early morning buzz, his tiny shop sat burrowed between a bakery and a toy store. 

He inhaled the sweet scent of blossoms, of lilac and hyacinth. 

It was the start of a new day at ' _Flowers in Her Hair,'_ a quaint flower shop owned by Castiel Novak. He donned his dark green apron and pinned on his name badge, plain white with his name in cursive and a yellow hibiscus in the corner. 

He smiled proudly at the little business he had built from the ground up, not extraordinarily popular but it got by comfortably. The hardest part had been naming the shop, the task - which should otherwise have been simple - leading to an intense argument between Castiel and his brother, Gabriel. 

_"Gums N' Roses."_

_"It's geums, pronounced **gee-uhms**  Not gums."_

_"Tripping Daisy. Savage Garden."_

_"I'm fairly certain they would both get me a lawsuit."_

_"The Orchid Thief."_

_"Just because it's a book and not a band, it doesn't mean I can't be sued."_

_"Saturday Night Hay-Fever!"_

_"I want people to take my business seriously, Gabriel. Who is going to want to buy a funeral arrangement from Saturday Night Hay-Fever?!"_

Needless to say, it had turned very ugly very fast, but they'd finally settled on something Castiel found elegant yet quirky, and that Gabriel equally approved of.

The bell above the door jingled as it swung open, bringing a seasoned face into his shop. 

"Missouri," Castiel greeted. 

"Castiel, honey," she said sweetly. "You're getting more and more handsome every day."

Castiel laughed and plucked out a singular yellow rose from a vase on the front bench, holding it out for her to take. "Lovely flower for a lovely woman." 

"Boy, you might get all the girls and guys swooning with that charm of yours but it ain't fooling me," she quipped, forcing a laugh from the man.

"You have too much sense to fall for my wily ways," he retorted teasingly, to which she nodded approvingly. "What can I do for you today, Missouri."

"Anything of your choosing should do me fine, I'm sure the kids don't give two shakes."

Missouri ran a day-care centre a couple of blocks away, and often frequented his humble shop to pick flowers the children could plant. Today, as was customary of Wednesdays, she was looking for things to make flower crowns with. 

He collected some gypsophila and gerbera to gently weave through larger flowers, namely daisies. He threw in some roses and dahlias out of fondness. When Missouri objected, he simply shook his head and urged them forward. 

"You're a stubborn boy, you know that?"

"I've heard." 

"You take good care of yourself, Castiel," she said, before swiftly leaving his shop, the happy chime of the bell signalling her departure. Missouri always came early, in the dawn of the day when Castiel had barely open shop and even the sun was hardly waking up, rubbing the crusted sleep of night from its eyes and rising over the horizon. 

Today however, she came later than usual, and it was precisely because of her late arrival that he wasn't surprised to see a new face walking into his shop. 

"Wow, you must be an angel or something for Missouri to like you. That crazy old bat hates my guts." 

"You watch that mouth, Dean Winchester!" yelled a voice from outside, Missouri's glare just short of freezing the window. Castiel could feel the residual chill from the look. 

"How the hell does she do that?" Dean, apparently, questioned, so quietly Castiel barely heard it himself. It was impossible that Missouri heard the words through a glass pane and outdoor chatter, but somehow she tapped her finger to her temple and mouthed what looked suspiciously like 'psychic.' Strange. An issue for another time. As of right now, he had a customer. 

"Can I help you?" Castiel asked.

"Um, I need flowers," Dean said.

Castiel smirked, looking at the spectrum of vibrant blossoms sitting meekly in their pots. "I think you came to the right place," he said, playfully. "So what are you looking for?" 

"Uh,  _flowers,"_ Dean said, enunciating the word slowly and squinting at Castiel like he was talking to a child. 

Castiel laughed. "What  _kind_ of flowers." 

"Oh, right." Dean blushed, cheeks flushing a carnation red. "I don't know, something nice." 

"Any particular occasion?" 

"Nah, just something nice for my girlfriend." 

That was refreshing to hear. It was far too often people came in looking for a quick fix to a lovers spat or grovel material; it was rare someone came in out of pure and genuine kindness. 

"How long have you two been together?" 

"Three months," Dean replied, looking around the shop and catching his eye on a chalkboard that hung behind the counter, a board that Castiel knew read the words 'Earth laughs in flowers.' He thought it was cute. 

"Early days then," Castiel replied.

"Nah, not for me. You trashing on the longest relationship I've ever been in?" he asked with mock offense, clutching his chest and dropping his jaw a comical amount. Cas chuckled at the display.

"I didn't mean to offend. I was simply trying to gauge how deep your feelings are so I can choose the right flowers."

Green eyes the colour of fresh moss in fall squinted at Castiel, riddled with confusion. "Don't you just pick the pretty ones." he asked, completely innocent. It was rather cute.

"Well, yes, you _can_ just pick the pretty ones. But each flower and its colour has a meaning." 

"Really, what's that called, floral-ology?" The words dripped with a kind of sarcasm and were said behind a smirk. It made the blue-eyed man laugh.

"Close. It's floriology. It means 'the language of flowers.'"

"Huh. See, I'm more than just a pretty face," Dean said, raising his eyebrows and nodding.

"Just like a flower," Cas retorted, relishing the way Dean's cocky smirk slipped off his face.

"And here I was thinking we could be friends."

Castiel nodded and lightly hit the desk in a 'let's get to work' gesture. "Okay, I'll show you what I think will do nicely."

Castiel gestured for Dean to follow him through the flower-cupped isles of his shop, over rustic red brick pavement that clicked together in a herringbone pattern. 

Dean poked through assortments of flowers, gentling thumbing at the petals of a lavender rose.

"Love at first sight," Castiel offered, pleased when Dean immediately pulled his hand away from it. 

"Way to cheesy."

Cas couldn't agree more. A gorgeous flower indeed, but for the sake of sending a message, he was a firm believer that it could be done with a more elusive grace. 

"So, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say a bouquet of red roses would be pretty lame?" It was meant as a statement, but the higher intonation towards the end made it a question. 

Castiel did his best not to visibly cringe, but judging from Dean's subtle smile he failed miserably. "To me they seem very routine, almost like an afterthought. They're a very standard Valentine's Day gift, but I wouldn't give them to a girlfriend you've only been dating for three months. That is of course, unless you a  _very_ serious about the relationship." 

"Why? What do they mean?"

"Eternal love." 

Dean balked. "Yeah, I'm not quite there yet. Hell, I'm not even at  _love_ yet." 

"Then I think you best stay away from anything red," he said. Finding shreds of sympathy dredging up from Dean's lost look, he decided to put the poor man out of his misery. "What's her favourite colour?" 

"Orange," Dean said. 

Good, Cas could work with that. 

He walked away, leaving Dean to stand in the window-masked sunlight and the company of nature's finest. He returned not long after with his pick in hand. 

"Lilies can mean friendship, but they can also mean devotion," he explained, handing them to Dean while he deftly picked an orange flower from it's rachis. "Orange gladiolas, they show passion. Hopefully she'll appreciate the colour as well. They'll also add dimension to the arrangement." He looked to and fro, eyes bouncing around as he looked for the final piece of the puzzle. He let out a muted 'ah' when his eyes finally locked onto the last flower he needed. "Coral roses, they show desire." 

"Wow," Dean said, admiring the mixture of oranges and pinks and whites, in what was not an overly extravagant but elegant bouquet. 

"It doesn't show love, but it shows that you want her and that you're committed to the relationship."

"They're nice. Thanks man, I would have been totally screwed without you." 

Cas pulled the flowers together, wrapped them in a clear plastic covering and tied a white ribbon around the bottom. "You're welcome. I hope she likes them." 

Castiel gratefully accepted the money Dean slid over the counter, waving his hand in a polite goodbye when the man walked from his shop. The bell called after him in a cheery hope that he would be returning, and Castiel silently hoped the same thing. 

***

“Hey, Cas!”

“Hello again, Dean.”

This marked the fourth time Dean had visited his shop. After the first visit came his girlfriend’s – whom he found out was named Lisa – birthday, and then Valentine’s Day – he was very happy when Dean didn’t buy a bouquet of red roses.

“What can I do for you today? More flowers for Lisa?”

Dean visibly cringed at the question, though it seemed to Cas that he tried to cover it. Of all the times Dean had mentioned her it had never garnered that response.

“Not quite. I was actually looking for something for my mom’s birthday.” And wow, Dean never ceased to gain points in the _wonderfully sweet human being_ department.

“Does she have a favourite flower? Or colour, perhaps?”

“Flower: lilies, colour: yellow,” Dean said, as if reciting it from a list and mentally ticking it off in his head.

“You’ll have to thank your mother for making my job so easy.”

He felt Dean’s presence hovering over his shoulder as he collected a conglomeration of flowers; white lilies and yellow roses stood proud, the giants of the arrangement, giving shelter to shy blue delphinium that poked through every crevice. Monte casinos softened the domineering yellow and green with purple.

A week later when Dean returned to buy flowers for his Aunt Ellen, he told Cas how much his mother had adored them. Castiel didn’t know what pleased him more, the good review or Dean’s smile.

***

The next time Dean came around, he was holding a single yellow rose in his hand, two dark green leaves poking from each side of the stem and thorns uncut.

“I got this for you,” Dean said, handing it over. “I thought since you’ve given me a whole garden by now that I should probably return the favour and all… you know… to be polite. I looked it up, it means friendship.”

Castiel took the rose from Dean and held it to his nose, its sweet yet slightly tangy scent wafting from the petals. “That’s very sweet of you, Dean.”

Dean ducked his head. “Yeah, it’s… yeah… whatever.”

Castiel grinned and quickly went into the back room, filling a vase with water and placing the rose inside. He walked back into the main shop and set it on the corner of the front counter, enjoying the way the sun reflected off the rippling surface to project a golden river onto the bench. 

“How is everyone?”

Dean worried his bottom lip between his teeth, irritating the dusty pink skin to a light red. “That’s why I’m here, actually. Lisa and I have been going through a bit of a rough patch. You think you can help me work some magic?”

“It’s what I live for.” As Cas collected flowers, he decided a change of topic might get the smile back on Dean’s face. “How’s Sam?”

Another thing he’d learned about was Dean’s little brother, Sam. If you were looking for the definition of ‘proud,’ you needn’t look further than Dean’s eyes when he talked about Sam. Sam who was going to become a lawyer, Sam who got a full ride because he’s so damn smart. Dean could talk about Sam all day with a light in his eyes – it was the same light that ignited right then when Cas asked the question.

“Sammy’s great. He just graduated, top of his class.” Dean’s smile couldn’t be filled with any more warmth if he tried.

“That’s fantastic Dean. Send my congratulations to him,” Cas said, handing over the arrangement with a blank, ‘I’m an idiot, please forgive me’ card. Dean chuckled and patted Castiel on the back.

“Sure thing, Cas.”

***

Dean pushed the door open hard, the open/close sign rattling against the glass like a horse trotting down a cobblestone road.

He was angry.

“You got any flower arrangements that say ‘you’re a cheating liar and I hope you get chlamydia’?”

Castiel startled. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything of the sort, but my brother is a pastry chef. I’m sure he could make a novelty cake for that.”

Dean pushed open the gate separating the customer from owner sections, dragging a stool from under the counter and sitting on it. He rested his elbows on the bench and buried his face in his hands before groaning.

“Why am I such an idiot?

“You’re not an idiot, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah I am. You know what she said to me the other week? She asked me if I was cheating on her because I kept buying her flowers. _‘No one can be that sweet without a reason._ ’” Dean said in a theatrically high-pitched voice, in what Castiel assumed was a poor imitation of Lisa. “As if she had the nerve.”

Castiel clasped Dean’s warm hand where it was now resting on the table, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over Dean’s knuckles.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Dean asked.

“What would you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, something, anything: ‘It’ll be okay, she wasn’t good enough anyway, you can do better…’ Isn’t that the kind of bullshit people are supposed to say to their friends when they break up?”

“Is that really what you want to hear?” Cas asked, and Dean sighed, dropping his head back into his hand, his elbow sliding back and forth on the smooth timber benchtop.

“Nah, its bullshit." Cas bit his lip to keep from laughing. "I actually just want quiet. I guess you knew that before I did, huh?”

Cas smiled, nothing more than the slight upturn of his lips, as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. Comfort and quiet.

“Maybe I should leave some poison ivy on her doorstep, huh? Get back at her?”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cringing and clearing his already perfectly clear throat.  

“Cas, what is it?”

The florist half smiled in the way that pulled one cheek high enough to squint his eye, shaking his head slightly and puffing out a breath. It was the kind of smile that tried to be laid-back, but failed miserably.

“Are you having a stroke?”

“ _Dean,”_ Castiel chastised.

“What is it then?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re a crappy liar.”

“Well… the thing is…see…”

“Spit it out.”

“Ivy actually represents fidelity,” Cas said in a rush of air.

Dean groaned, something that was halfway between grumble and a depreciative laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said guiltily.

“Not your fault the universe likes to bend me over.”  

 “…Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“If it’s any consolation, you can definitely do better.”

Dean smiled lightly, and looked at Cas. “Yeah, I can,” he said, and Cas got the feeling that Dean believed it. 

***

The next day, Dean left a bouquet of orange mock and petunia on Lisa’s doorstep. Castiel thought Dean was being petty. Dean told him he thought it was a very tasteful way to say “fuck you and good riddance.” Castiel had trouble disputing that. 

***

“Cas, my man.”

“Dean, what can I do for my favourite customer today?”

“Don’t let Missouri hear you say that,” he said with a boyish grin, one that Castiel could only describe as adorable. With Dean’s break-up with Lisa, it was a thought he let himself feel without guilt. Dean walked to the counter and jumped up on it, sitting casually with his legs dangling over the side.

“Dean, would you be dirtying my countertop with your ass?”

“Hey, the counter should be glad it gets to touch my ass. It’s a great ass.”

“The counter is an inanimate object. I’m fairly certain it is incapable of experiencing human emotions.”

“You’re a… inanimate object.”

“Witty as ever.”

“Shut up man,” Dean flushed. “I stand by what I said. My ass is great and any countertop worth its salt knows it.”

“Indeed, Dean, your ass is rather impressive,” Cas offered, words that brightened the hue of Dean’s cheeks. Dean hid the blush by jumping off the counter and lightly wriggling his ass, eliciting a fond eye-roll from the florist.

“Yeah yeah, you kiss-ass, I can see right through your act.”

“And what act would that be?”

“Butter me up with compliments, make me like you so that I keep coming back, givin’ you good reviews.”

“Uh, I see. It appears that I'm quite the diabolical mastermind. What will I ever do now that you’ve uncovered my wicked schemes?”

“Grovel,” Dean smirked, leaning forward on the counter. “And help me find a bouquet for Jo’s graduation that’s so amazing that I forget all about your cunning lies.”

Castiel likewise leaned forward on the counter, putting him eye-to-eye with Dean and inches between their faces. He squinted his eyes. “That’s going to have to be one _phenomenal_ bouquet.”

“The best,” Dean confirmed.

“Then we’d better get started.”

Dean hummed in agreement. “I like the way you think.”

***

“Why did you decide to come to my shop?” Cas asked one day while they were having lunch; Cas on his break from the shop and Dean on his break from the garage where he worked. “There’s a flower shop a couple roads down that I’m sure is closer to where you live.”

“Yeah, but _Bela’s Flowers?”_ Dean scoffed. “Where’s the creativity in that? You got Led Zeppelin lyrics in your shop name, man!”

Castiel chuckled. “Yes, it was a name my brother and I could agree on, after much argument.” At Dean’s curious look, Cas huffed a breath. “I’ll tell you about it someday.”

“Ah shit, I’ve gotta run,” Dean said, looking at his watch. “I’ll see you again tomorrow for lunch?” he asked, grabbing at the juncture between Castiel’s neck and shoulder.

Cas nodded and watched as Dean turned, his hand sliding down Castiel’s arm before he ran off. He eyed Dean’s half eaten burger, and picked it up. He figured Dean wouldn’t mind.

***

The next day, when they returned for lunch, Dean came with a white flower in his hand. The taller man sat down and handed Cas a white camellia.

“I thought I’d give you the flowers for a change… well, flower. There’s only one.”

Cas looked stunned. “You do know what these mean, yes?”

Dean smirked, but the rouge colour tinting his neck betrayed his confidence. “Yeah, I know.”

Cas looked down at his white camellia, grinning, as Dean beckoned the waiter.

_You’re adorable._

***

The day after, Castiel offered Dean a flower in return. It didn’t matter that Dean didn’t understand the meaning of the variegated tulip, because Castiel knew, and it didn’t stop the warmth from spreading in his chest when Dean blushed.

_You have beautiful eyes._

***

The sun hid away behind stormy clouds, asleep for the diurnal and those who sought it. Dean walked in, his waterlogged pants dripping onto the brick pavement and clinging to his bow-legs. Over the heavy rain, Castiel could hear Dean whistling ‘ _Going to California.’_  Castiel's heart didn't so much as skip a beat - no, that would be too graceful, too fluent of a recovery - but more like stuttered and tumbled.

 

“Slow day?” Dean asked, pointing to the pecan pie Castiel was currently eating – ‘eating’ of course, being a more polite way of saying stuffing his face.

Cas nodded. “I suspect that everyone is holed up inside,” he mumbled around a mouthful.

Dean took his customary place next to him on the spare stool, the timber atop it becoming more dipped with every use, the tell-tale scrape of the stool being dragged in white scuff marks along the brick floor. He looked at Castiel expectantly, to which Castiel handed his fork to Dean and let the other man dig in.

“You’re the best Cas.”

“So you’ve said.”

Dean lifted the fork to his mouth, his moan nothing short of obscene as he tasted the first perfect mouthful. “Wffere,” came the beginning of the muffled question, before Dean swallowed and tried again. “Where did you get this from?”

Castiel pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the glass door connecting his shop to his brother’s bakery. “Remember how I told you my brother is a pastry chef? Well, his shop is right next door.”

 “Tell your brother he’s amazing.”

“Oh no, not a chance. His ego is already big enough, I’m not boosting that.” Cas got up and walked around the counter to the shop door.

“Hey Cas, where’re you going? C’mon don’t be jealous, man. You’re amazing too!” Dean shouted.

Cas chuckled and turned to look at Dean, the picture of bliss with butter-crust crumbs dusting his lips. “I appreciate that, Dean. I’m simply just…” he flipped the sign so that it said ‘open’ to Dean and himself, and ‘closed’ to everyone outside.

“Oh…right.”

They lulled into a comfortable silence, enjoying one another’s presence and the thunderous downpour of rain as they passed a silver fork back and forth between them.

“So, is this brother the same one that helped you name the shop?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

“Well then Cas, I think you owe me a story.”

Cas looked at the rivulets of water colliding and sliding down the shopfront’s windows, falling on an angle and distorting the painted rose beneath a Riviera styled shade. Next to it, _Flowers in Her Hair_ was reversed and mirrored so that everyone on the outside could be aware of his little shop.

It made Castiel realise, with the barrier of rain and window and the wall of mismatched potted plants barricading his shop from the sidewalk, that they were completely alone. He looked at Dean, his so-far maintained show of professionalism leaving with his sigh of defeat.

“Gabriel’s running favourite was ‘The Garden of Weedin’,”

If there was one positive to take out of sharing that fact, it was the way Dean threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh – the kind of laugh that started as a rumble in the stomach, and ended as a throaty chuckle. Caught in a position that had no right to be flattering, Dean looked glorious. His tight-scrunched eyes gave him crow’s feet, deep enough for his tears to run through like a river. His mouth was open, and Cas noticed for the first time how Dean’s teeth angled ever so slightly inwards in his mouth.

“Garden of Weedin’?!” Dean laughed. “Good name… if you’re selling drugs on the side.”

“If I’m being honest, I think that was what Gabriel was trying to push me towards.”

Dean laughed again. “Aw man, thanks Cas. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Too long.”

Castiel smiled back, and he wondered idly, if Dean saw in his face what he saw in Dean’s – something brighter than the sunflowers in the summer.

“Well, if you wanted, I think Gabriel is in possession of things that could make you laugh more.”

“You mean...”

“Very literally related to what we were just talking about.”

“Really?”

“He said he could have been my supplier.”

Dean let out a slow whistle, one that filled every crevice of the room.  “Man, I could have been buying _very_ different plants from you.”

***

“So I kind of like someone. You know, _really_ like them.”

That was not what Cas was expecting when Dean sauntered into his shop today. A thousand thoughts scrambled through his head, quicker than they had any right to and never managing to organise themselves into full, finished sentence. It was a muddle of happiness for Dean, gladness that he managed to find someone to make him smile after the mess with Lisa, but mostly and overwhelmingly, sadness.

“Oh,” Castiel said instead, because it was the best thing his befuddled mind could produce. He didn’t look Dean in the eye, instead toying with the petals of a yellow hyacinth in his hand.

“Yeah, so, should I go for it?”

“Why are you asking me?” Cas snapped.

Dean balked at that, and Cas immediately felt guilty for barking at him.

“Because you’re my friend, Cas,” he murmured hesitantly, so different to his usual confidence.

“I’m sorry… Yes, you should go for it,” Cas said dejectedly, feeling even worse at the sight of Dean’s elated grin. It held nothing back, all pearly white, slightly angled teeth on display, and it broke Castiel’s heart.

“What flowers should I give them?”

He started drearily, fleetingly stunned that he could ever talk about flora, his passion, with such despondency.

“Red tulips are a declaration of love. Yellow tulips show you’re hopelessly in love with someone. Both would be equally appropriate. Red carnations mean… uh…” he paused, and looked Dean directly in the eye, “…my heart aches for you.”

“All of them, I want all of them, Cas. It’ll be perfect.”

“Yeah,” Cas whispered, “of course.”

He amassed the posy of flowers in what he could only describe as a mundane assemblage (he just couldn’t find it in him the effort to make it beautiful) handing it to Dean along with a single blue rose.

“I didn’t buy this?” Dean questioned unsurely, and in spite of everything, Castiel couldn’t help the twitch of his lips.

“You didn’t. But you’ve practically been ninety percent of my profits lately. Take it as a thank you.” 

Dean beamed, parting with the words: “Thanks Cas, you’re the best.”

Castiel watched Dean as he left his store, looking at the blue rose bobbing with Dean’s step outside the window, feeling defeat in its connotations:

_I can’t have you but I can’t stop thinking about you._

***

Something was off today. It was in the way Dean kept hitching his shirt or rubbing the back of his neck, or kept hastily running his fingers through his hair, which only managed to aggravate it.

Dean was nervous.

And he was holding the bouquet. The very same one Castiel gave him yesterday.

“Dean, what are y-”

It was all he could manage to say before Dean was kissing him, capturing Castiel’s plump bottom lip between his own and combing his fingers through Castiel’s hair. It was a shame he thought, that despite yearning for this moment for some time, playing it out in his well-organised mind, that he couldn’t manage to actually _kiss_ Dean back.

He chased Dean as he moved away, his breath warm on his spit-slicked lips.

“What?”

For all the times he made jibes at Dean’s wit – or lack thereof – it wasn’t the most intelligible thing to come out of his mouth.

“These are for you,” Dean said, holding out _the_ bouquet of red and yellow tulips and red carnations.

Cas grabbed the bouquet with trembling fingers, so shaky that Dean had to grasp Castiel’s hand to support it.  

“I don’t understand.”

“They were for you, Cas. It was always you.”

Castiel grinned, so hard his cheeks were aching. He turned, pulling his hand from Dean’s and carefully ducking around aerial pottery until he saw the flower of his desire. He shook it from the pool of water it sat in, turning to hand it over to Dean, whose face was hovering between hopeful and confused.

Dean took the ambrosia with an earth-defyingly beautiful smile, its meaning clear to him as Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and pulled him into another kiss. Dean lifted Castiel onto the bench, their arms tangling as the blue-eyed man hooked his heels over the back of Dean’s thighs and pulled him in. Dean – stuck between kissing and smiling – gently placed his flower on the bench in favour of running his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck and settling into the space between his legs.

On the bench, the bouquet sat beside the ambrosia.

 _Your love is reciprocated._  

**Author's Note:**

> Edit number 3: the fic has been successfully uploaded. I hope you all enjoyed :)


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